Catastrophic Failure
by Doesn'tMeanMuch
Summary: Solace is not easy to find when you're buried under a mountain of grief.


So, I got hit in the head with this idea. It doesn't fit into any real specific timeline on the show, and I almost couldn't convince mself to put this thought into words. Too many nights with zero sleep changed my mind, and this is what you get from it.

I should probably sit on it longer, and do the tweaking I usually do, but I decided to just fuck it, take the story, and run with it. If it works, it works, and if it doesn't, no one can say I didn't try.

I really want to know what you think about this one.

I don't own anything but the idea.

XXXXXX

He hasn't seen the sunlight in six days.

He hasn't left the sofa in eight and a half hours.

He doesn't want to live anymore; this is painfully clear. Every breath hurts, and every time he closes his eyes, there she is.

His arms ache for her. It's an actual tangible burn coursing through every layer of his skin. He knows his arms will remain empty. She's not here, and she never will be.

Silently, he wonders if he still has a voice. He hasn't spoken in so long, that he's forgotten what he sounds like.

The lukewarm can of beer rests comfortably in his hand, and he welcomes each sip that slides down his throat. The cable was shut off four days ago, but he hasn't bothered to stop staring at the empty television.

This, in all senses, is an empty apartment. This is an empty apartment, with a broken, empty man, dying inside its walls.

No one's checked up on him for as long as he can remember, and he doesn't expect that they'll come back. He honestly doesn't want anyone to find him here. It would be so much easier to let him leave this world the same way he lived in it, forgotten, because he's already dead.

He died the second they put her in the ground.

He's going to have to get up again soon. There are only two cans left from the too many cases of alcohol he bought after that funeral.

His eyes are closing from the bottom up, and he figures maybe soon he'll fall asleep. He wants to stay that way. He wants this to be the last time that his eyes close.

But, with his luck, it won't be.

The doorbell rings, and he groans, jumping at how unrecognizable his voice really was.

"It's open," he yells. The door creaks, and footsteps make their way towards him. He doesn't move, not even when a blonde wreck of a girl sits down at the other end of his sofa. She looks at him, then down at the snow covered TV screen, somehow just as captured by it as he is.

"Is it ok if I sit with you?" she asks. Her voice is as hollow as his chest feels. He finally turns his head.

"I don't give a shit, Michalchuk," he sighs. She leans back into the couch, and lets the air trickle from her tired lungs.

"You want one?" he says, pulling the last two cans off the floor. He holds one out to her, and notices that her eyes are as bloodshot as his are.

"Yeah," she replies, taking the can, popping it open, and sucking down a long gulp. Neither of them will ever know or care how long they sat together before speaking again, but it felt like years of mutual, unspoken, pain. Finally he stands, feeling the dull pull in each of his calves from hours of cramped confinement.

"I'm going out for more beer, you coming?" He says digging through the trash for his wallet.

"Ok," she says, and follows him in the trudging march down the street to the liquor store. He didn't realize how late it was until they stepped outside, and his eyes had to adjust to the dark.

"Shit, what time is it?" He wonders out loud, glancing at his bare wrist for a watch that has never existed.

"One sixteen," she answers. Her voice sounds so startlingly empty. He glances sideways at her, and sees her face cracking with tears. She keeps walking, wiping at the salty trails with a clumsy hand. He recognizes the look on her face, after seeing it too many times in the bathroom mirror.

She's stuck in that state of shred your guts pain.

They arrive at their neon oasis, and Paige follows behind him, as Jay proceeds to purchase three cases of beer, as it that is all he can afford to buy. The entire endeavor takes only a minute or two, and they are again on their way down the dark street, towards the empty shit hole apartment that beckons them.

"Hey Jay?" She chokes unexpectedly.

"Yeah Paige?" he says, unaware that his own voice cracks with repressed emotion.

"It's never going to get better is it?" She sounds so innocent, and he sighs before giving her his answer.

"No, it's not," he says. His eyes are locked forward, as it is the only safe position for them. He doesn't want to see her crying anymore.

Their conversation doesn't start up again until they are back in the gloomy apartment, on the couch after too many drinks to count. She finds a white tank top on the floor and starts to cry again.

"I'm sorry," she manages through her quiet tears. "Its just hurts."

Jay shakes his head, not really as bothered by the crying as he wishes he was.

"Believe me, I know," he says. His tone is oddly sincere.

"I can't keep doing this," she spits, angry at herself, and spiteful of the world. He winces, able to mirror her thoughts.

"Yeah, I know," he sighs. His eyes shut, and there she is again, gracing his mind with her final moments.

_He shudders, watching her struggle for air, and hears himself shouting._

"_Don't move Alex," he says. "Just don't move." His eyes scanned the wreckage of his car, trying to figure out how to get the two of them safely out of the mangled steel death trap. A pained hiss escaped her mouth, accompanied by a soft rambling moan._

_He rammed the driver's side door with his shoulder, and managed to pop it free from the twisted frame. He reaches over, and puts his arms gingerly under her and, pulling her across the car and onto his lap, resulting in a somewhat tormented cry of agony. He cradles her neck in the crook of one arm, her legs in the other, and staggers away from the car._

"_You'll be ok," he mumbles, laying her down in the grass off the shoulder of the road._

"_I don't feel right inside," she spits with breath she shouldn't be wasting. He doesn't know how to help her. There's only a little blood, from a gash on her forehead, otherwise she looks, for the most part, untouched. A man stumbles from the other side of the wreckage, drawing his eyes away from her for a moment._

"_Shit you came out of no where," he slurs, drunk. Jay can't control the panic rising in his throat as he yells to the man._

"_Call nine-one-one right now!" he insists. The man obliges and Jay turns back to her. She's paling in front of his eyes._

"_Just wait a little longer Lexi, you'll be ok," he says again, wanting against all odds to believe his own words._

"_Fuck this hurts," she sighs, her voice is a whisper of its normal self, and her face is twisted with pain. He doesn't know what to do. All he can manage is to hold her and watch, tortured as she fades away in his arms._

"Fuck this hurts," he says, testing the expression in the air. It's not the most eloquent of last words. He was surprised to see how well they fit the current situation.

"Yeah," Paige agrees. They are really not that different, him and the blonde ex-cheerleader. Her company is the most sincere he's had in a while. She doesn't want anything more from him than silent commiseration. They've both lost someone who can never be replaced.

The worst of it all is knowing, with out any doubt, that the end of her life did not go quickly. She suffered, he had seen it in her eyes.

"I'm trashed," Paige announces, only partly coherent.

"I guess you are," Jay agrees. They take a break from drinks after Jay notices sixteen beers have disappeared in a single hour. He doesn't have the money to down them like that. These have to last.

"Sorry I drank so much," she slurs. Jay shrugs.

"Don't worry about it," he says. Paige clutches at her forehead.

"I just want to go to sleep, why can't sleep?" She says, frustrated. Jay shrugs again, letting the question stay open-ended to the air, rather than struggle through a long-winded explanation.

He know why he can't sleep anymore. He can't sleep because he knows, that when he wakes up in the morning this is not all just going to be a dream. He knows that he'll wake up knowing he will never see her face again. He knows he'll never have his chance to tell her what she means to him.

"I'm sorry I came here," Paige says suddenly, looking up at him through hazy, wounded eyes. "I barely even know you, and I bet you're sick of me, but I just figure you are the only one who gets it, you know?" Jay nodded. It makes sense. Even though they have never gotten along, and never really enjoyed each other's company, it makes sense that at this moment, they can be together. He lets out a long sigh, and stares up to the dark ceiling, and a surprising response falls from his mouth.

"You're welcome here anytime Michalchuk."


End file.
